Arriving at Darcy’s townhouse, she requested a private meeting with Miss Darcy, where she stated boldly that she and Mr. Darcy had been secretly engaged since their Easter meeting at Rosings. Since Darcy had already shared some of the particulars about Lydia and Wickham's situation, Elizabeth was able to persuade Georgiana to agree that she must accompany Mr. Darcy in his search for the wayward pair.

At first, Miss Darcy did not feel right about helping her secretly, but Elizabeth convinced the girl that she feared that Mr. Darcy might challenge Mr. Wickham to a duel, and that she believed that only her presence would prevent it. She also called upon Georgiana to agree, at need, to corroborate the story she had told to Mrs. Gardiner.

In turn, the young lady suggested sending a maid to Gracechurch Street to help care for Mr. Bennet in the meantime, and made enquiries with the footman about her brother’s plan. They learned that he had ordered two hire coaches and had several servants ready for the journey. They would stay in Whitstable, a small coast town near Dover. He would then change into labourer’s clothes and walk to the nearby fishing village from there on a ‘private matter.’

“Why does my brother wish to go to the village himself, instead of sending the servants?” Miss Darcy asked.

“I believe he is determined to confront Mr. Wickham himself. That is why I fear that a duel may be imminent. I do not want him hurt. You must help me, Georgiana. You must!”

This last argument persuaded Georgiana to help her. So determined, the two women then dressed Elizabeth as one of Darcy’s footman and slipped her in the front of one of the carriages after Darcy was onboard.

* * *

By the time the coaches arrived in Whitstable, the sun had set.

Mr. Darcy bid his men goodbye. The first village was about two miles away, on an isolated part of the shore. If the enquiry was not long, he hoped to be back to Whitstable before the night was out.

A few metres behind, Elizabeth followed him quietly, able to trail him on level ground. When he took the downward track by the river towards the sea, however, she had more difficulty keeping up with his pace. The growing darkness hindered her progress, as well. A few moments into her downward descent, she encountered a slither of loose rock underfoot, and yelped aloud as it tumbled her down the bank to sprawl in the shallows of the slow-moving river.

Mr. Darcy heard a cry and turned back to find what looked like a slim lad sat in the shallow water. The boy had a smear of dirt on his face, and was staring at him with very bright eyes. In fact, those eyes looked very like…

“Elizabeth!”

“Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth acknowledged weakly. She had hurt her ankle, and her clothes were soaked. When she tried to stand, the injured leg gave way and she slipped again.

Mr. Darcy moved quickly toward her. Before he could grab her, she slipped back into the water and splashed more of it on both of them.

“I told you that this was no place for a gentlewoman! Why did you not listen to reason?” Darcy hissed.

“I do not want you to call Mr. Wickham out. And I desperately want to help you with Lydia. I know my sister, and you will need me to reckon with her. Besides, I am no gentlewoman now,” she said, gesturing down at her boy’s clothing.

“But you have injured your foot. Now I shall have to carry you the two miles back to Whitstable. Stubborn woman! You are hindering the search, rather than helping it.”

Before they could argue further, they heard the approaching sound of men singing. Quickly, Darcy motioned for her to climb up and ride upon his back, with her arms wrapped around his neck, and her legs around his waist. At her scandalised look, he explained curtly that it was how a big brother would aid an injured younger brother.

“Wat yer doin’ ’ere, mate?”

“My cousin and I were heading to Whitstable, but he fell and hurt his foot in the river just now.” Mr. Darcy said.

“Whitstable be two miles on. Storm’s a comin’. Ye’d best stay till mornin’. My brother, John, has a hut at Herne Bay that’d be closer. Stay there, if y’like.”

Darcy looked up to the sky and agreed. He nodded and followed the men along the river to the sea, where they were taken to the hut of one of the fishermen. His family shared the hut with his brother and his wife. Darcy and Elizabeth were given the brother’s room. The bed filled up most of the space in the room, without even a chair to sit on.

John’s wife, Margaret, asked to have their wet clothes laid out for drying, and gave them trousers to wear for the time being. Inside the room, Elizabeth’s face turned bright red. She could not wear nothing but trousers, and yet she could not refuse to give Margaret her clothes. It would look too suspicious. Mortified, she looked at the bed and whispered to Mr. Darcy, “Pray, turn your back. I will remove my clothing and stay in the bed. You shall give the clothes to Margaret for drying. You must plead a headache for me, as I have no clothes that will permit me to go outside.”

Mr. Darcy turned his back and listened to the slithering noises behind him until Elizabeth said he could turn around. The wet clothes she had worn were now draped on the edge of the bed, and she had lain out another long piece of cloth near the window. She was lying under the bed sheet, and had pulled it up all the way to her neck.

Mr. Darcy said, “Should I not take that piece of cloth by the window out to Margaret as well?”

“No, she would find it strange that I possess such a piece of clothing.”

“Why?”

“I used it to…”

“To what?”

“To bind my bosom.”

“Oh!” Darcy exclaimed, flustered by the thought of her binding up her beautiful breasts. He said quickly, “It is you who must close your eyes now. I need to change.”

Elizabeth closed her eyes, silently listening as he removed his wet clothes and donned the dry ones. “I am finished." He said.

When she opened her eyes, she wished she had not. Although she was a country girl, and had seen many farmers without their shirts working in the hot sun, she was not prepared for the sight of a shirtless Mr. Darcy. His body was nothing like that of most farmers. His chest looked smooth and muscular. He was about to collect all of the clothes to leave the room when Elizabeth called out to him in a low voice.

“Mr. Darcy, you will not do.”

Darcy turned to look at her.

“You do not look like a labourer,” she confided.

He looked at his trousers and said, “These are a fisherman’s trousers, though too short for me.” He must be five inches taller than the owner of the clothes. Elizabeth could see that much of his calf exposed by each pant leg.

Colouring, she tried again. “I mean…your chest. You look… too clean and tidy.”

“Oh!” He looked around the room and spotted a broken bucket of herbs on the window sill. Scooping up a handful of dirt, he smeared some of it judiciously on his face, chest and exposed legs.

Elizabeth was mesmerised by his actions. She felt as if she were spying on him, as if he was taking a bath, a dirty bath.

“Will I do now?” he asked.

“Yes.” She averted her gaze and whispered shyly.

Looking reassured, he nodded his thanks curtly and left her there.

* * *

To Elizabeth’s surprise, Mr. Darcy returned shortly with a small meal for her, and then left the room again, informing her calmly that John and the other fishermen had invited him to join them for a drink.

The sounds of a storm raged outside the hut. Elizabeth was exhausted after her traumatic day. She could hear the men’s loud talking and singing outside her bedroom for endless hours. She reminded herself that she would need to collect the cloth by the window, as soon as it was less wet, so that she could bind herself again. She felt exposed lying on the bed, wearing only a pair of borrowed trousers, but she was too tired to move. Finally, she closed her eyes, intending to do so only for a moment…and was startled to awaken with a warm body by her side. Darcy was stretched beside her, his arm draped over her waist. His face was nestled close to hers. And he smelt of alcohol.

“Mr. Darcy! What are you doing in my bed?” Elizabeth whispered in agitation, trying to push him away.

Drowsily, Darcy replied, “Sleeping. The bed fills… the whole room. Where else can I sleep but here on the bed?”

“But you are most improperly attired!”

“As are you, since they gave us no shirts.” Instead of releasing her, he brushed his splayed fingers over her breasts. “Your skin is so smooth, Elizabeth. I love your… bosom. I have wanted to touch and kiss your… breasts for so long, as earlier as when we were at… Netherfield.” His hand rubbed around the creamy mound in a circular motion. “Firm and pert.” His fingers plucked at her nipple. “Like a rock! How I long to… suckle it, as I have done in my dreams.”

Elizabeth could scarcely believe that he had had such thoughts about her so early in their acquaintance. His hand and fingers were creating sensations in her body which she had never before experienced. She glowed with warmth and felt a tingling wetness gathering between her legs. However, her years of training in how to properly behave as a gently bred lady would not let her allow him to continue to take such liberties. She pushed his hand away and said breathlessly, “Mr. Darcy, you are drunk! Go to sleep.”

A drunken Darcy seemed far more obedient than the sober counterpart with whom she was used to dealing. He stopped caressing her. But he seemed more inclined than usual to talk as well. He murmured, “Cheap alcohol would not make me drunk. I am simply feeling… happy. Did you know that Whitstable is famous for its… oysters? They tell me that oysters are good for the men. It makes them go… on and on. You know, on and on… with their women. Do you want to try?

“No? …Ah well, we could not…try it anyway. All of the oysters are for sale. The fishermen are not allowed to eat their catch. These particular fishermen are really surprisingly nice. We talked and sang. I did not know I had such a…baritone voice. Do you want to hear me sing? … No? …You know, John was telling me that I should teach you better manners.”

“Manners…?! Whyever were you talking about me in such a regard?”

“They said you seemed like a…milksop, hiding your face against the back of…my neck while we were walking down to the sea, and claiming that a…headache prevented you from coming out to drink with us. I told them that my…cousin was young and innocent, and that I did not want them to… corrupt him, just yet.” Mr. Darcy chuckled, seeming to like his own joke.

“You know perfectly well why I could not go out,” Elizabeth hissed.

“Well yes, you know, and I know, but they do not know. They were really quite…amusing. They said I should…teach you how to scratch your bulge. Start young, scratch young, and the bulge will…grow larger.” He laughed again.

“Mr. Darcy, you are drunk! This is not a discussion you should be conducting with a lady."

“Ah, but you said yourself that you were…not a lady now. And I told you already that I am not drunk. I can still teach you how to…scratch. I know how to do it, though I do not do it as…often as they do. And, of course, I only do it…in private. Still, I can instruct you.”

“No!” Elizabeth protested, but she felt him take her hand and pull it down to the front of her trousers. She tried to struggle free but he was too strong.

“Now, scratch like this. All men must…do this, once in awhile, or else they do not look…manly.” As Elizabeth’s hand hung resolutely limp, he used his own fingertips to scratch lightly at the fabric between her legs. Elizabeth felt her blood draining from her head, rushing down to the area beneath his touch.

“Got that? Good. And when you…sit, you must sit with legs apart. The wider…you part your legs, the bigger…you imply your bulge to be. Then the others will see your manly assets."

“Mr. Darcy, indeed, you quite forget yourself!”

“Up!” Darcy sat up and pulled the bed sheet away, then tugged at Elizabeth to sit on the edge of the bed.

Shocked, she tried to cover her breasts.

“That is…no way for a man to sit,” Darcy insisted, and parted her legs. “Yes, men sit like that, with legs apart."

Elizabeth struggled, trying to cross her legs, but he would not have it. He arranged her limbs once again, in the position he liked. “Now, that is it.” He stopped and peered at her in the darkness. “But I fear you still look like…a milksop.” He moved his hand, tracing his fingers over her naked chest. “You have a bosom! Definitely a milksop!” Abruptly, his hand dropped, and he pushed her down to lie back on the bed. Elizabeth was afraid of what he might do next, but she heard him murmur, “Now sleep.” He pulled the bed sheet up to cover them both, then hugged her tight, his hands caressing her naked flesh while he whispered to her ear, “I do love you, Elizabeth.” Then his breathing became deep and even as he finally fell soundly to sleep.